


Kinktober Tenth: Who You Belong To

by KabochaKitsune



Series: Kinktober 2019 [10]
Category: One Piece
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blackmail, Brother/Brother Incest, Canon-Typical Violence, Crossdressing, Exposed, Fear, Fear of Discovery, Gender Dysphoria, Gender Identity, Gender Issues, Gender Presentation, Gender Roles, Genderfluid, Genderqueer, Held Down, Incest, Kinktober, Kinktober 2019, M/M, Multi, Non-Consensual, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Ownership, Rape, Sex Tapes, Sexism, Sibling Incest, Slut Shaming, To Be Continued, Transphobia, Video Cameras, corrective rape
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-17
Updated: 2019-10-17
Packaged: 2020-12-21 05:58:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21070022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KabochaKitsune/pseuds/KabochaKitsune
Summary: "So we've been talking," Ichiji purred into Sanji's ear, making the blond shudder, "about how to remind you who you belong to.""We decided on proof," Niji's voice rang from the stairs. When he came around into Sanji's field of view, Yonji was laughing like a dumb ape, and Niji was holding a camcorder.Sanji's blood ran cold.





	Kinktober Tenth: Who You Belong To

**Author's Note:**

> I don't usually tag Sanji as "Vinsmoke" in my works but it's kind of a plot point here. Welcome to AU hell!
> 
> [That Kinktober Generator](https://corsetsandlemons.tumblr.com/post/187862017291/the100kinkmeme-hello-soon-will-be-the-holiest), Day 10: Exposed.

"So, who do you think you're fooling, exactly?"

Sanji told himself he didn't jump out of his skin at the sound of that voice. He did kind of want to melt into the floor, though.

Or at least out of his date night clothes.

After the... _pause_... though, he gathered himself up enough to shoot a glare over his shoulder at Ichiji as he hung up his coat. Ugh. Manspreading over half the couch, as usual.

"Men," he responded, voice hard and masculine and not taking any of his brother's shit. "And some women, here and there." Most of them weren't fooled at all, though, bless their incisive wit and cutting eyes~

"Not your date, though, right?" Niji's voice cut through his reverie from the stairs. God, were they fucking _converging_ on him? How dare the weirdo stay out late etc. etc.

"Does it matter?" Sanji didn't usually stomp his feet, but in suede booties with a chunk heel? The echoing _thunk_ made him feel powerful. "He thinks I'm beautiful." _Beautiful_. Not just cute. The musclehead had called him _beautiful_ tonight, and he'd _felt_ it. He'd seen Zoro's eyes linger on the hem of his pencil skirt, practically _felt_ them trace down the pencil-straight perfectly set seams down the backs of his stockings. Hell, he hadn't just felt beautiful; when Zoro looked at him like that, he felt _hot_.

"He's just buttering you up." And there was number four, leaning in the kitchen doorway, talking with his fucking mouth full.

"Does _that_ matter?" Sanji's voice had risen to a _shout_ by this point. God, he wished he was still doing wigs instead of extensions so he could just pull it off and throw it in one of their faces. "He treats me better in a couple hours than all of you combined manage to treat me all week even when you're trying. _Fuck off_."

He didn't bother taking off his shoes in the entryway, enjoying the volume of his steps as a telegraph of his fury as he strode with _driving_ steps toward the back of the house. Bathroom, library, back fucking staircase, whatever, just _away_.

(Didn't trust himself to be able to get past Niji on the stairs.)

His blue-haired brother turned out not to be the immediate concern, though. As usual, the person right the fuck up in his business was the oldest - by _minutes_, god _damn_, yet he acted like the fucking ruler of the roost - clamping a hand around his upper arm. Sanji hadn't even heard him get up. (Maybe a downside to the stomps of his boots after all.) He turned with a snarl on his face, vicious not in spite of but even with the color on his lips and eyes, the blush and contour of his face. "Let fucking go of me you posturing peacock!"

The subtle narrowing of Ichiji's eyes told Sanji in milliseconds that he'd picked the wrong thing to say.

"If I'm the peacock, you're the peahen, right?" His grip tightened, hard enough to be painful, and he yanked Sanji up against him, both hands on his upper arms holding the smaller man too close.

Sanji couldn't help the way his expression faltered, the flicker of fear through his eyes. _No. Not this again._

"Cute little fancy details on a lot of drab." God, why had he said peacock? Ichiji had gone through this before: the little crown of hairpins on the peahen, the blue-green stole, the white "fur coat" at the belly. And: "A whole lot of posture on a whole lot of ugly."

"Fuck off," Sanji bit out, willing the tears at the corners of his eyes to do the same. Why the hell did his brothers affect him like this? Why the fuck did he care what they had to say?

Why did their insults still _hurt?_

"Nuh-uh. You still haven't learned your place."

Sanji tensed, especially to see the grin on Niji's face over Ichiji's shoulder. Sanji's _other_ older brother (by an even fewer number of minutes, fuck all this!) slipped off up the stairs, clearly with purpose, and that made the pit of Sanji's stomach go colder than if he'd just come up and closed in.

No. Hell no.

He stomped on Ichiji's foot as hard as he could with those solid wood chunk heels. The redhead hissed in a breath, grip tensing but faltering enough for Sanji to twist away, to turn -

\- to crash right into Yonji, bodily, his whole being smashing up against unyielding muscle. God damn the youngest brother for being the broadest, the tallest. Even in his heels, Sanji had to look up to see him, to glare into his eyes, bared and gritted teeth completing the snarl. How the hell did they all move so fast?

_There are three of them, you idiot._ Fucking fantastically helpful thought at this juncture. _Stop provoking them._

Bullshit. They'd find an excuse to do this anyway.

"Let go of me, Yonji." It was harder to struggle, to move at all, with the physically strongest of them holding him terribly close, both arms wound around him much too tightly.

"Nah."

Nothing more than that. Just a single word in a gleefully flippant, nasally tone. Dumb as a post. But he didn't really need to say anything else, did he?

"Bring her over here," Ichiji demanded from where he'd moved back to the couch, making Sanji twitch. He didn't _use_ female pronouns at home. _Hated_ them. When he was out, when he was dolled up, he was wearing a character - mostly - and the pronouns were part of his persona as much as his lilting, heavily-accented voice. But his brothers knew him. His brothers _knew better_. And they treated his escapism, his catharsis, his _freedom_, as a joke.

"I'm a fucking _man_, you shitstain," he spat over his shoulder, to no avail or purpose. Yonji just straightened up, lifting Sanji off the floor with strong arms and pure height, barely flinching as Sanji kicked at his shins and kneed at his inner thighs, not able to twist enough to get the other in the groin. God he hated Yonji. His bearhugs were nigh inescapable, and the bastard had learned by now to use that. None of them stood a chance in a one-on-one fistfight, and all of them knew it, so they constantly went tag-team and underhanded and _mean_.

"Sure you are," Ichiji responded with a tone utterly emotionless and flat. Not sarcasm, not agreement, just... words. "And men wear lipstick and padded bras and pantyhose." God, even that still came without inflection. Just words. Untrue by their mere utterance, spoken factually and just _understood_ to be against what was correct. Sanji loathed that voice.

He expected to be shoved into Ichiji's arms. He didn't expect to be carried around the back of the couch and then dumped overhead into the redhead's lap.

It was jarring enough to make him lose his footing, forget the elbows and heels he intended to throw -

\- and it registered a second later that those wouldn't have mattered, because he was still nearly dangling, his wrists in Yonji's strong hands, arms held up above his head. Ichiji tucked his chin onto Sanji's shoulder and wrapped arms around him from behind, softly - fucking _too_ softly - holding the slimmer brother back against his chest.

"So we've been talking," he purred into Sanji's ear, making the blond shudder, "about how to remind you who you belong to."

"We decided on proof," Niji's voice rang from overhead, footsteps on stairs announcing his return. When he came around into Sanji's field of view, Yonji was laughing like a dumb ape, and Niji was holding a camcorder.

Sanji's blood ran cold.

"No," he breathed, his voice coming out smaller than he wanted to admit, fearful, pleading. "Niji - _Ichiji_. Don't do this."

"Aw, not gonna ask me, big bro?" Yonji's laughter was still audible in his sneer. "Know I won't play nice?"

Against every fiber of his better judgment, Sanji turned his head to glower up at the taller man.

"I don't think you're capable of an original thought."

**Author's Note:**

> Are we sensing a theme of "Daz has more ideas than they can get out in one"?
> 
> I wanted to dump this entire thing out at once but I'm behind and October is busy. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Want to support what I do? Find me on other sites through my [carrd](https://kabochakitsune.carrd.co/)!


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